The Telepath of Notre Dame
by Spectrie
Summary: Charles, the well spoken and lonely captive in the Notre Dame belltower, has accepted he will only ever watch the Feast of Fools from afar... Erik is a well known thief, and is struggling to support his two children, when he hears a rumor that the Notre Dame bells are encrusted with gems. Their two worlds are about to intertwine, but what will Charles' freedom cost them?
1. Chapter 1

Light shone through the dim corridors of the Notre Dame bell tower as the bells swung and rang out across Paris. Charles stood alone amongst the rafters, breathing heavily with a tired grin on his face. He staggered and grabbed onto the rails as the toll of the bells vibrated through his body. Closing his eyes, he spends a few precious moments to enjoy the sound until his knees threaten to give way under his own weight.

He's unable to stand on his own for longer periods of time now, an observation he unhappily takes note of.

Clutching the railing like a lifeline, he half sits, half falls into the wheelchair next to him, nearly hitting the back of his head against it in the process. A groan of pain escapes his lips before he can stop it, and he takes a few moments to catch his breath before tiredly wheeling himself over to the balcony, to steal a quick glimpse of the city below.

It's breathtaking; it always has been. No matter how many years go by, Charles would always appreciate the view. But today, of all days, held the best view of all. Today was the greatly renowned Feast of Fools. A day of rare entertainment for Charles, for it was held in Notre Dame's courtyard, in perfect view. At the height of activity, the high thrum of excitement and joy was very nearly palpable for Charles, with happy thoughts and laugh induced stupors echoing through his mind and in turn, lifting his own spirit. It was early yet, with the sun still creeping over the rooftops, casting the early morning mist aglow. Banners were still being hung and stands were making their final arrangements, but there was a still a trickle of an early crowd beginning to form; mostly family members eager to get their fill of food and demure conversation before it was all swept away and drowned out in the city crowd. Charles felt his smile widen; _Truly a calm before the oncoming storm..._ , and he wheels himself from the archway towards the center of the room, to begin the day's work.

The crowds would be sparing in the cathedral, but present nonetheless. A few uptight festival naysayers, who were laughingly the same every year, but then there were also one or two stray drunken souls who would sometimes stumble through the gates. Most of whom would feverishly pray for forgiveness for their drunken sins. _Or for more wine,_ Charles mused, closing his eyes. Once or twice the priest's sacramental wine had gone missing; but Charles couldn't keep track of _everything_ in the cathedral, could he? His smile widened.

Most of it was all harmless fun. A few years before however, a group of teenagers had dared one another to go up to the belltower and ring the bells, and had made it quite far; before Charles gently nudged their minds to think twice about it, sending them back down the spiral staircase in confused daze. Part of him hoped this year would be as exciting, but the wiser half knew otherwise. As with every year, too, dawdling by the window to merely watch the crowds and festivities was not allowed. Instead, Shaw expected a full report on the worshippers below and their prayers. Hopefully, if the crowds would thin inside, he could spare time.

With a sigh, he leaned his head back and extended his consciousness to the people below. There were incredibly few for this morning's mass, as expected, and most of the minds were familiar. He brushed across them, catching glimpses of their thoughts. A public official and his wife, both still praying for their first child. The cobbler, who had been frequenting only recently, still praying for forgiveness over a quarrel he had with his son. It had ended badly, as far as Charles could tell, for he was unwilling to pry into the man's thoughts further. He had learned long ago the harsh repercussions it could carry, after admitting to Raven he had dug into her head solely out of concern, when he had found her crying in the stairwell when they were still children. Raven knew he had meant well, but had still given him a blistering lecture about how people really don't appreciate it when you bring up, or look through memories without permission. He hadn't done it since.

Slowly, Charles scanned over the minds one by one. A few stragglers wandered in, before finally it seemed to settle. Charles opened his eyes and wheeled over to his desk, taking up his charcoal. The prayers are the same as they've always been, and he begins to write them wearily. Of course, though most unchanging, they still must be properly recorded. Charles skillfully writes the people's names, and then their prayers. An internal part of him always recoils at the clear invasion of their privacy, but Shaw insists it's for the greater good, and so he writes them down with minimal hesitation. He never questioned Shaw. He owed the man too much.

Charles couldn't help but let his mind wander.

Shaw had taken in Charles in when he was young. A supposed orphan, found on the streets, he found refuge in the Notre Dame cathedral. There the priests took care of him and a menagerie of other lost children. It was there he met Raven. But it wasn't until Charles had been there for a year or so that the voices started. At first it was just mere whispers, but then they became full on voices, and Charles found himself answering questions that the other kids never even asked. Raven was supportive, fervently telling Charles that they were special; as she could change eye colors at will. 'One day,' She whispered to him excitedly one night, 'Perhaps I may even be able to change my hair color!'. But even as his powers refined, Shaw was never surrounded by odd voices. It was as if Shaw was under deep water; everything in his mind hazy and sluggish. Charles was never able to read him, and instead of being a comfort, the fact made him uneasy.

No matter how they tried, however, Charles' powers could not be kept a secret. When word of Charles' voices reached the priests they thought him possessed, and anxiously sought a means to release the devil inside of him. They were close to enacting an exorcism. Shaw, a respected, but low ranking priest, had stepped in and refuted their judgement, saying he intended to make him his pupil. He would find the lord through his teachings. When the priests hesitantly agreed, Shaw took Charles aside. He told Charles that his power was not a curse, but a blessing. That so long as he remained in the belltower with him, he would ensure the safety of Raven and the others, and even the ones after them. All he had to was relay the prayers of all the worshippers to him. A simple task, surely? Only seven years old at the time, Charles agreed.

When the time came for Raven and the others to move on and get jobs outside of the church, Charles stayed. Shaw had been appointed Archdeacon, no doubt because of his impeccable ability to relate to worshippers, and his incredibly _intimate_ knowledge of the church's inner politics. He stood in his long, garish robes near the church doors, watching Charles and Raven exchange tearful goodbyes. Raven, now capable of changing her entire form, grabbed onto his shoulders by the church entrance, which Charles was forbidden to pass. She turned him so that he was forced to meet her gaze. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and he struggled to look at her straight.

'I will return.' She told him adamantly, her voice barely a whisper. She locked their gazes. 'I will come back, Charles.' Charles only managed a short, jerky nod. Raven smiled then, and wiped his tears away before turning and vanishing into the city crowd. As far as Shaw and everyone else knew, she had crossdressed and gone aboard a local merchant ship, to vanish into the sea. Charles had cried after hearing Shaw's snide remarks on the incident. 'Never could keep her skirts about her, the wench. Pray you'll keep better company now, Charles.'

When Charles attempted escape that night to go after her, he was caught and moved to the belltower. Iron beams and chains were placed on it shortly thereafter. He refused to speak to anyone for months. His only outside connection being the thoughts of the people below, and the long lists of prayers he wrote for Shaw everyday, which he would slide underneath the door frame, to avoid seeing him. The only visitors were the nuns, who would quietly leave food for him, their minds alight with shame and concern. But they, like the other priests, were too afraid to speak out against the Archdeacon.

Years crawled by, and Charles' abilities grew more powerful, even as his body weakened from the lack of sunlight and stimulation. As his telepathic range extended, so did his intellect. He devoured any and all scrolls the nuns and priests saw fit to give him. He longed for the outside world, and was enthralled with the thoughts pervading the minds of local townspeople. Tales of mysterious, free spirited gypsies who walked the edge of the law. He would be able to see them once a year during the Feast of Fools, and he grew more interested every year he watched. There were whispers of them having strange powers and abilities, and apparently the group was even in possession of a huge, blue furred beast. Charles wasn't usually drawn into such gossip and senseless fantasies, but what did he know of the world beyond the stained glass windows of the church? Their thoughts seemed honest enough. Charles dared to ask Shaw of them once, and Shaw's face immediately twisted, his voice turning cold and cruel. 'Disgusting vermin. I will one day be rid of them. They are a plague upon the city.' He nearly spat out his words, and Charles spoke of it with him no more.

Raven returned shortly thereafter; a decorated and celebrated war veteran. She was to be promoted to the city's captain of the guard, under special assignment to oversee the church's activities. Initially, Charles wasn't even able to recognize her. She had thoroughly disguised herself as a man. Her hair was chopped short, and her jaw was broadened and more masculine. Her chest was flat and her shoulders broad. As different as she was, her mind felt the same as he remembered, if not darker and more guarded. And her eyes…. Her eyes were still the gold that he remembered.

She visited him that night in the belltower. But their reunion was not a happy one. The belltower was dark at night, the only illumination coming from a small handful of candles laid around the room. They cast deep shadows on Raven's face, and the light only barely showed her red, crying face.

'Oh Charles…' She whispered, her voice breaking upon seeing him, 'What have they done to you?'

A sudden roar of excitement drew Charles from his stupor. At once, the memory drained from him, and he gained his bearings to the room about him. He had let the charcoal roll off of the table, and he bent over in his chair to reach for it with some difficulty. Hopefully he hadn't missed any worshippers in his pondering. Surely Shaw wouldn't notice if he had.

The festival was beginning to pick up. A whisper of enthusiasm began to hum in his mind. Charles felt a pang of longing in his chest when there's a sudden chorus of trumpets, and he's unable to stop himself from once more going over to the archway. A jovial announcer wearing a jester's outfit of red and black is juggling a pair of swords, and although his voice is muffled by the roars of approval from the crowd, he is clearly cracking jokes. The jester throws one of his swords into the air, then just as quickly, confidently swallows the other, smoothly gliding it down his throat, putting it all the way in just in time to catch the other flying sword, balancing its tip against the swallowed sword's hilt. The crowd gasps and applauds thunderously, and Charles joins in himself, laughing.

Distracted as he is by the performance, Charles almost doesn't catch the familiar consciousness of Raven nearby, who seemed to be making her way up the stairs. Startled, Charles accidentally hears a snippet of her thoughts.

 _Can'tbelieveI'mdoingthisIcan'tbelieveI'mdoingthisI-_

The door opens, and a slightly disheveled Raven stands in the doorway, carrying a basket with what could only be his breakfast. She's fully dressed in her captain's uniform, her chest bearing the city insignia, and hair combed back neatly. She gives him a withered smile, and straightens herself, absently trying to right her hair and clothing.

"Good morning Charles." She says casually. It sounds forced.

"You look flushed." Charles comments cautiously, wheeling towards her. "Is everything alright?"

She waves her one hand, dismissing him. "Of course! I'm fine." She walked over to the center table, slightly wincing at how loud and sudden her response was. "Everything is fine. I just… had the craziest idea." She put the basket down with an almost exaggerated speed. Charles watched patiently as she adjusted the basket's position so that is was lined up with the table edge.

When she looks up, she's met with Charles' tempered gaze. Almost immediately, she pulled herself in, inhaling deeply before evening out her own expression.

"Charles." She started, her tone implying a question.

"Raven." He replied, mimicking her severity. It took all of his willpower not to smile.

She turned her attention to the main window, looking out on the Festival. It was in full bloom, as much of a spectacle as it was every year. The crowds cheering and celebration provided a stable backdrop of noise to their conversation, and Raven's head tilted. Charles couldn't help but notice the subtle change in her expression. She looked almost regretful.

"You've been here for years. You've never gone outside. You watch this festival from afar every year, wishing you could go. And yet…" She looked at him, her tone softening, "You never complain."

Charles found he suddenly couldn't meet her gaze. "Of course I don't complain, Raven. There are others to consider. What is my happiness compared to the children down below? They depend on my hard work, on my _obedience_. The needs-"

"-Of the many outweigh the needs of the few." Raven finished for him, her tone deadpanning. Her voice sharpened. "I've heard you say it before Charles, but frankly I don't care. Why not do something for yourself for once?"

Charles shook his head. "What exactly are you saying, Raven?"

Raven strode over to the room walls. They were covered in charcoal drawings. They were some of Charles' sole possessions, and perhaps his most prized. Portraits of all the people who dwelled below, that he had drawn since he could first lay his hands on charcoal. Some of the people prayed at the church, and though they didn't know him, they were important to him. And now, Raven was clutching the face of the local cobbler, waving him in the air like a festival streamer.

"Raven!" Charles shouted, wheeling towards her.

"Look at this Charles- You want so desperately to be with these people, to meet them." Raven yelled, almost pleading. She surrendered the drawing without a fight as Charles swiped it from her grasp.

"I don't know what you're going on about." Charles strained, trying to smooth over the paper.

Raven's voice lowered. "Let me take you."

Charles' head shot up. "Take me?"

She reached down and clutched one of Charles' arms, meeting his eyes. "I'm taking you to the Feast of Fools."

Charles felt his mouth open and then close again as he couldn't quite articulate a response; an objection of _some_ kind.

"Don't talk me out of this. I've made up my mind." She said sternly, grabbing Charles' chair. She plucked the drawing from Charles' hands, placing it haphazardly on the table as they went by. "Today, after all, _is the day for breaking rules_."


	2. Chapter 2

Charles still couldn't quite believe how they managed to get both him and his wheelchair down the tower steps. Initially, Raven carried his chair while Charles followed behind her; but after the first 15 steps, Charles was forced to stop and catch his breath. There weren't exactly guard rails, so a slip up would mean his tumbling down to the bottom. Raven had cursed, half running down the steps to deposit the chair at the bottom, as she jogged back up to lend Charles her shoulder. 'We're going if it kills us.' She hissed, struggling to keep her balance as they teetered their way down. When they reached the bottom, Charles gratefully collapsed in the wheelchair, supporting his forehead against his hands as he nervously chuckled.

'Ok.' Raven exhaled loudly and grasped the chair handles, 'Here comes the tricky part.' But avoiding people in the cathedral wasn't tricky at all. The only soul they crossed was a nun, who had been busy carefully lighting the candelabras that lined the main hallway and hadn't noticed them quickly slip by.

Charles felt his heart stutter when they reached the cathedral entrance, but one beat later and they were out in the open. Instead of panic, however, Charles felt a surge of freedom. He had to shield his eyes from the light until they adjusted.

The first thing he noticed was the confetti. Buckets upon buckets had been poured out into the square, and the wind was picking them up, scattering them throughout the sky in a multi colored whirlwind. Dancers were scattered throughout the square, adorned with bells and coins. The people who were in costume were dressed in all manner of ridiculousness: A lobster wheeling a large pot with a chef inside, a dog walking is master, and clowns who had balloons for their heads; which they popped to send a large plume of confetti flying everywhere. The black and red jester from earlier was hopping to and fro from the banner poles, eliciting large roars of applause.

"Raven. This is... this is..." Charles tries, unable to complete a thought. His head was turning every direction, and he couldn't seem to keep his gaze on something for more than a few seconds. The festival was nearing its climax, and was aglow with music and noise. Everyone was either dancing or laughing, and the further in the crowd they went, the more people they found in costume. People's thoughts were louder than he was used to, since he was far closer than normal, and the wave of noise was making his head spin. Or was that his empty stomach?

Something caught the corner of Charles' eye, and he turned to see what appeared to be a large, blue furred beast walking idly through the crowd, a small gang of children hanging from his arms. He appeared uncomfortable, but halfheartedly swung them back and forth like a swing, letting a small smile grow on his face. The children shrieked in mock alarm when his fangs slipped out, but didn't run away in fear. Rather, more of them began climbing on his back. Charles felt a small laugh escape from him. So the rumors he had been listening to were true; the gypsies did have a giant beast among them. But it looked too real to be a costume. He had considered the possibility there were others like him and Raven, but this was the first sign he had seen to prove it. Despite the creature's massive size, he was quickly lost in the crowd, and a trio of fire spinners took his attention instead.

Raven couldn't help but smile. This was definitely well worth the risk. She had never seen Charles this excited before. He was practically falling out of his chair, leaning out of it the way he was. She pulled back a little, nervous that the fire spinners were getting a little too enthusiastic on their performance. She looked down to gauge Charles' reaction. His blue eyes were wide with excitement and wonder. A single, rebellious thought occurred to her. "Perhaps we could make this an annual thing?" Raven said, leaning down towards his ear so he could hear her.

"Oh, Raven, could we?" Charles breathed, leaning forward again. Looking back, he couldn't believe he had doubted this decision. Raven turned them towardsa small path of space, pulling them further into the chaos. They were passed a quartet of jugglers who were working in unison to throw over a dozen swords between them. Ahead of them, the red and black jester backflipped onto the main platform and announced that they were crowning the king soon. "We're looking for the ugliest of all ugly, folks!" He pointed to a seemingly specific man in the audience. "If you do not look like an avocado who had sex with an older, more disgusting avocado..." He jerked his hand in an exaggerated dismissal. "I want you outta here!" The crowd roared. 

"We'll make this an annual thing." Raven affirmed, laughing at the jester with the rest of the crowd. She was fighting to make her voice heard. She started pushing Charles' chair with increased purpose towards the center stage. It suddenly hit her that he hadn't eaten yet. His breakfast remained untouched in the belltower. It was probably the last thing on Charles' mind, but it would undoubtedly catch up to him soon, and he would start getting dizzy spells. Ignoring the slight twist of warning in her stomach, she reached over and touched Charles' shoulder to regain his attention, which had again wandered."Tell you what, actually. They'll be crowning the king soon. Why don't I get you something to eat while we watch?" She hated to leave him alone, but she would only be gone for a minute.

"That would be wonderful, Raven, thank you." Charles said, turning his head towards her. He placed his hand on hers momentarily, before turning his gaze back onto the show. Raven stifled another laugh, and refocused on pushing Charles through the quickly thickening crowd. Most were polite enough to move, if only since she was in her captain's garb, but it was still a slow process. She could feel Charles' impatience, but there was no way she was letting him walk through a place as aggressively crowded as this, and this seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them.

"Alright, here we go." She said, finding a small empty spot near an alley between two houses. She twirled his chair into a forward position. " You should be able to see from here. Don't move from this area." When she didn't get an immediate response, she bent down in front of him. "Charles?"

"Yes, Raven?"

"No moving."

Charles chuckled lightly, and found that he couldn't control the fond grin that was now dominating his face. "Of course, my dear."

His smile reached his eyes, and Raven felt satisfied.

She made her way back into the parting crowd, her uniform drawing a few nervous looks from those she passed. Charles could feel the whisper of unease coming from them, like a light undertow. But it was quickly replaced as the crowd regathered, and the celebration returned to a high thrum.


	3. Chapter 3

_Come one! Come all!_

The festival was in full swing now, and despite the fact that Charles was now alone, he couldn't be happier. Centerstage, the black and red jester was dismissing citizens one after another. Some he threw offstage with a wave of his hand, others he literally booted off with force, sending one or two sprawling in the square amidst roars and applause. He was so caught up in the performance, he almost didn't notice the young dancer that was skipping her way through the crowd. Barefoot, and covered with coin jewelry, she was wearing dark red dress that flounced halfway down her calves as she made her way through the horde towards him.

She couldn't have been more than ten. Eight, if Charles were to guess. Her hair was a wild mass of brown curls, the tide tucked back by a single red band. She beamed at him as she hopped over, and Charles felt his heart warm at the sight. His responding smile was immediate. Surely she must be one of the gypsy children, dressed as she was. She bore the spirit of one too, by the way she moved.

"Why're you sitting down, mister?" She asked, head tilting. She radiated innocent curiosity, but her eyes were sharp and intelligent, and Charles detected a hint of mischief in her features.

"I get tired rather easily," Charles said honestly, "So I thought to bring a chair." He kept his tone gentle and even, but he teased slightly.

He was rewarded with a high, bell laughter. "Well that's silly!" She giggled, "How are you supposed to dance sitting down?" She demonstrated by twirling once, sending her dress pluming in a small circle around her. Her coins and other adornments shone and jingled as she moved. Charles could have sworn he saw a hint of an odd glow go about her, and his mind buzzed slightly. Was his hunger getting to him?

"I'm afraid I don't dance." Charles admitted, "Perhaps one day, if given the chance." The young girl gasped, as though someone being incapable of dancing was unimaginable. She put her small hand on his, her momentary horror quickly replaced by brimming enthusiasm.

"I'll teach you! I'll teach you!" She exclaimed. She started lightly pulling on his arm, seeking to pull him into the crowd, jumping a little in her impatience. Charles couldn't help but feel a little charmed by her confidence, and earnestly felt a little regret when he gently pulled his hand from her grip. He patted the top of her hand in comfort at her quickly morphing expression. She looked as if the world were coming to an end.

"Ah, my dear, I am sorry." He regretfully persisted, "But I truly do weaken easily, and dancing would be past my abilities." He hoped the truth would be enough to keep her from tearing up, and he was a little alarmed to see her devastated, hazel eyes begin to brim. Feeling a little desperate, he tried to backpedal. "Perhaps you may dance for the both of us?" He sought, hoping.

A small sniffle, but then her eyes brightened again. "For the both of us? Like... I'll show you what to do?" She repeated, and Charles couldn't help but feel like she was trying to work him with her pouted face and large eyes.

"I will be with you in spirit." Charles affirmed, his head dipping in a serious nod. This seemed to appease her, and the smile returned. She clapped her hands together, and she stepped a small ways from him.

"Watch closely." She said with childlike severity, "So you can learn."

Charles let his face grow sober, and he nodded, indicating his rapt attention.

A bold grin grew on her face. "Ok. First, you let the music decide how you dance." She flourished her hand in an intricate motion and simultaneously stepped to the beat of the festival drums. She did this for a few moments before looking back at Charles. "Got it?" She queried, her tone indicating she wouldn't tolerate any lapses of his attention.

"I see." Charles said, tone insightful. Humor built in his chest, but he fought for control. He put his hand on his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully, letting his brows furrow in supposed concentration.

"Ok, good." She moved in another series of movements to the beat, this time swinging her coin belt around. She paused again to look back at him. "See what I did there?"

Charles wouldn't risk the wrong answer, and chose the vague option. "You added something."

Her firm nod indicated he was correct. "I made my jewelry jingle." She jumped in a small circle, and she did indeed ring; the sight nearly making Charles lose control of his stone facade.

"So I will need lots of coins and bells." Charles mused aloud, just loud enough for her to hear.

"It's the most important part!" She bubbled, her eyes widening. "And they're good for more than dancing!"

"Oh?" Charles queried.

"Yup!" She absently started to dance to the beat of the music once more. The buzzing in Charles' head started again, except it was a little louder this time. "Daddy says it makes me easier to find!" She said brightly, dipping into a series of intricate steps. Laughter leapt out of Charles at that statement, and internally he tried to brush the buzzing aside. It kept creeping back. What was it?

As her dance continued, the look on the girl's face appeared to grow confused, and her mouth grew a little taut as she danced with more enthusiasm. Her hair whirled with her, and her movements became a blur. Hard to detect, but Charles could have sworn he could see an unearthly red glow whizz about her, one that nobody else seemed to notice. The buzzing in his head returned again, and seemed to have a numbing effect.

With significantly more force this time, Charles willed it away in one broad stroke, and washed it out of his mind like a tidal wave. The sensation was utterly strange. At about the same time, the young girl looked as if she'd been struck, her eyes widening as she tripped over herself, coins and all. She fell to the ground with a surprised 'Oh!'. She looked to be dazed as she clutched her head with her hands, blinking rapidly.

Concern struck Charles. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice pitched a little high. Ignoring his protesting limbs, he leapt forward to help her to her feet. He hadn't taken more than single step before he felt a tug on his breeches. Behind him, he heard a small exclamation and a small crash, paired with two small hands suddenly grasping the bottom of his breeches. Incredulous, Charles looked down to see wide, silver eyes staring back at him. It was another young gypsy child; same age, same style of clothing, but this one was a boy. His head was a collected twirl of silvery blonde hair. His mouth was frozen in a terrified 'o', and his hands remained fixed to Charles' pant legs, as though he were caught in the act of something. A few steps away, Charles saw the other gypsy girl orient herself, a blush rapidly filling her cheeks, her expression scandalized. " _Peter!_ " She hissed. She quickly got to her feet.

Charles blinked, and his confusion got the better of him, his hand reflexively making its way to his temple. Gently, he reached into their minds to ascertain the situation. He had only to graze their thoughts to discover that the two were in cahoots with each other and the friendly dancing was merely a ploy to get his attention.

"You were going to pickpocket me!" Charles stated, his tone one of shock. He wasn't angry, rather, surprised that such young children would do such a thing. Where were their parents? Who taught them that such a thing was acceptable?

He was completely ignored. Instead the two siblings, Peter and Wanda, as he had discovered in his prying, were arguing with each other.

"You tripped!" Peter yelled, letting go of Charles and facing his sister. "I would have robbed him blind if you hadn't tripped!"

"I beg your pardon-" Charles spluttered.

"Well you should have been more careful!" Wanda spat back, her face still bright red. The two went at it, shouting relatively tame and child appropriate insults at each other. Most of the fight was drowned out in the sounds of the festival, but their discord was drawing the attention of a few passerby. Charles balked at the thought of starting a scene.

"Now hold on." He started sternly, trying to take charge. He took a step forward. "We all need to take a deep breath and-"

He was cut short by a swift kick in his shins.

Sheer, absolute willpower kept Charles was from cursing, but it didn't stop him from falling to his knees, tears forming in his eyes. Through his half blinded eyes, he could see the children's retreating figures run and disappear into the crowd.

"Wait!" He called out weakly, his voice barely audible even to him. He wasn't mad; he just had questions. Technically, he might be able to force them to come back with his powers, but he was unwilling (if not entirely incapable); especially since they were just children. He breathed in deeply through his nose, and tried to hoist himself back onto his feet with minimal success. After a few moments of struggling, he felt two roughly calloused hands grab him underneath his arms, and hoist him back on his feet in one swift motion. He turned to see the face of an older, bearded gentleman, who was regarding him with curious concern.

"The name's Edmund, but you can call me Ed." He kept his hold on Charles, peering down at his face. "You alright?" He gave him a once over. Charles nodded, and voiced out a breathless thanks. His shin still stung and standing was painful. The older man nodded and released Charles' arms. Scratching his beard a few times, Ed shook his head with a loud huff and waved his arm in the general direction of where the kids had gone. "Damned gypsies are a menace, if you ask me." He said gruffly.

"Thank you, Ed." He reshifted his weight so he was standing up straight. He wasn't particularly in the mood to strike up conversation, but he jumped in anyway, not wanting to be rude. "Does that happen often?" He was trying his best not to wince as he balanced his weight on both legs. He'd be limping for the next few days. "Pickpocketing, I mean."

"Pickpocketing, cheating, drinking, you name it." Ed harrumphed. "They're a plague upon the city." He regarded Charles with an odd look. "You not from around here or something?"

"I'm visiting." Charles said. His face dropped a little when he realized how true his statement was. A visitor intruding on what had previously been a spectator sport. He began wracking his brain for a polite means to exit the conversation. He really needed his chair.

"Ah. First encounter with the gypsies then, eh? Those two are a particular trouble. Ought to be hanged."

Charles' heart violently clenched. "I'd heard rumors, but I've never met any." Charles replied, his tone starting to get a little clippy. Who could say such a thing about children?

Edmund didn't seem to notice his change in tone. "I saw you with the Captain of the guard just a little earlier." Ed said conversely. "The new one. What's his name again...Starts with an 'R'.."

"Richard." Charles said quickly, remembering Raven's fake name.

"That one!" Ed laughed, giving Charles a rough pat on the back. Charles felt his knees quiver. "He's going to help Shaw get rid of these gypsies, isn't he? Came straight from the front lines of the war, if I'm remembering."

Charles simply nodded, not trusting his voice.

"He'll put them in line. You'll see. Maybe next time you visit they'll be gone from the city altogether."

A nod was his only response. He tried a smile but it was tight.

It was just then that a loud roar from the audience ripped both his and Edmund's attention away from each other. A few screams scattered out from the audience as Charles saw the giant blue beast from earlier was now standing in the center stage. The black and red jester was enthusiastically waving his hands in presentation amongst ravenous applause. It was difficult to hear over the crowd's noise, and even more difficult to see through the new clouds of confetti being poured out into the square; banners and flyers now going wild as far as the eye could see. However distant though, Charles could vaguely hear the words 'crown' and 'king' being thrown about, and he regarded the shy, smiling beast with newfound interest. However monstrous his appearance, he wouldn't exactly pin him as 'ugly'. But then again, it was the crowd's decision, not his.

Edmund perhaps said something to him, but it was lost in the crowd, and before he had even turned his head to ask Ed to repeat himself the older man had gone closer to the center stage, squeezing his enormous bulk through an already tightly wound ball of people.

A searing lance of pain reclaimed Charles' focus, and he turned to return to his chair. Easing on his throbbing leg, he had to gently weave through an enthusiastic crowd, and he quietly cursed his disabilities as very few festival goers had the sense or courtesy to make way for him, making a previously short expedition turn into a long one. His chair had only been a couple yards away before, but it seemed to have been moved another few yards away, and every step was a test of Charles' endurance.

He had just grasped the handles when a large gasp echoed through the entire event. Flinching, Charles felt his eyes widen at the sight on stage.

Previously smiling, the beast now wore an expression of shock, carefully touching a large splatter of red entrails that was now splashed across the length of his shoulders. Another second of inspection and Charles came to the realization it must have been a tomato or fruit of some kind. Although who would ever have had the cruelty to throw it? Another heartbeat later, and a second projectile was thrown. Red, like its previous attacker, but finding its mark dead center on the beast's chest. A small group of laughter was heard a ways away near the front of the stage, quickly followed by what was now a small flurry of various foods. Charles' felt his heart pain at the sight of the beast ducking, and letting out a low yelp as most of them found their mark. Momentarily forgetting the pulsing pain in his leg, Charles' worked his way back through the crowd, struggling to reach center stage. The idea was becoming more improbable by the second as the crowd tightened. If he could reach center stage, he could probably talk the group of men down. He would rather not use his powers if he didn't have to, but there was a likelihood things could get violent if he didn't. Through the waving masses, Charles caught a glimpse of the perpetrators. Rare anger tightened in his stomach as he recognized one of them to be Edmund.

Shouts called out all around the stage, and there were a few more screams as the black and red jester pulled out his two swords, pointing and aggressively advancing towards the offending group. He was shouting out something that Charles didn't hear, but it had to have been extremely vulgar, because one or two bystanders quick covered their children's ears, their faces painted in outrage. More shouts erupted when a tall, well built blonde man knocked out one of the tomato throwers in a single blow, sending him sprawling on the square. A shorter, more composed man with dark brown hair gripped the blonde's elbow and seemed to exchange a few exclamatory words seconds before two more of the throwers charged them. The taller blonde made embarrassingly short work of the attackers before they were able to get to his darker haired companion. The pair were clearly gypsies, intervening on the beast's behalf. The blonde pointed at the jester and almost seemed to chide him, before the crowd swallowed his vision once more.

The stage, however, was elevated and still clearly in view. Near the beast, Charles could just barely make out Wanda's figure, who was wiping off some of the tomato juice around his face. Her brother appeared to be talking to her in a desperate manner about something, pointing towards the cathedral. Before Charles could further his progress towards the stage, cheers and applause roared in his ears, and Charles' view was quickly obstructed by enthused citizens, all worked up over the promise of a festival brawl. Charles felt himself get knocked about every which way, and he nearly lost his balance altogether, almost becoming victim to the ensuing stampede.

With a great force of effort, he managed to secure himself to one of the banner poles. Looking up, his heart clenched. A whole lineup of guards near the cathedral gates were taking aim with their bows. There was no doubt in his mind who they would be taking aim at. Thoughtless to his own situation, Charles lifted his fingers up to his temple and cast his consciousness out towards the soldiers, simultaneously echoing one single command: _**SLEEP!**_

All of them dropped at once in boneless heaps, their weapons scattering about them. There was a shocked hush that murmured through the crowd, and a few of the wayward gypsies stood in tense alarm.

Charles' vision began to spot. He'd never done anything of that magnitude before. Reading thoughts was one thing, completely changing a thought process was another. His whole body drooped, and he found his weight fall uncomfortably on his hurt leg. His hearing dulled until he could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat, fast and frightened. He thought he heard someone call his name, and he fought to look up.

There was Raven, standing over him, and he'd never seen her so furious.

"Charles, we have to move _now_." She hissed, and he nodded mutely. Catching his one arm, she slung it around her neck and hoisted up his entire body. Charles struggled to get his feet underneath him. He felt so, so tired. Raven half dragged him through the mass of people, who were all still shouting and scrambling about center stage. Some people were pointing, and Charles looked to see where. His heart caught in his throat.

There, emerging from the cathedral gates, surrounded by a set of soldiers, was Shaw. He was shouting and pointing about the square. No doubt to have it surrounded. He could hear Raven curse as she forced them to move faster. Instead of the main entrance, however, she moved them over to the side. They had barely thrown themselves behind one of the side pillars before a small set of soldiers rushed past them.

Throwing open the door in one quick movement, Raven threw them inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Allowing them only a few seconds to breathe, she quickly rekindled their previous pace in her effort to get Charles to the main staircase to the belltower.

"He'll be expecting me out there," she said through gritted teeth. "He'll be suspicious if I don't come."

Charles managed to nod. "I understand."

Raven dropped him gently on the first step. "Can you crawl up?" She asked bleakly.

He waved her aside and managed a short shake of his head, before looking up and giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll be alright, Raven." He reclined on the step, doing his best to cover up the pain on his face. "Go. It'll be worse if you stay."

She gave him a final despairing look before slowly backing out of the stairwell. "I'll be back." She promised.

Charles nodded, and waited until her footsteps had completely faded before turning to rest his head on the cool stone.

[A/N: Erik in the next chapter, promise!]


End file.
